


Search and Recovery

by Taliya



Series: Give and Take [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hostage Situations, Movie 20 Spoilers, Mystery Train Spoilers, Rescue Missions, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliya/pseuds/Taliya
Summary: Nine-year-old Edogawa Conan had been reported as missing for three days. When a message addressed to Kudou Shinichi shows up while Kaitou KID is conducting his own investigation into the shrunken detective's disappearance, how far will the phantom thief go to ensure the safety of his favorite critic? Spoilers for the Mystery Train arc. Rated for violence and language.





	1. I: Search

**Author's Note:**

> Detective Conan and Magic Kaito characters, settings, and ideas do not belong to me but to Aoyama Gōshō.
> 
> \---
> 
> Warnings: Violence, language, major Mystery Train arc and beyond spoilers, minor Movie 20 spoilers

His head snapped to the side from the blow and he coughed, droplets of crimson spattering the concrete before his face. The strike jarred his entire body, scraping his knees and shins against the rough surface as his body jerked to one side. The right side of his head throbbed, his right ear rang, and his right shoulder in particular ached from the stretching strain from the momentum of the impact to his head combined with the restraint on his wrists that kept his arms suspended and apart. Yet he refused to scream, to give in to his pain and give them satisfaction—or more specifically, to give _him_ satisfaction. He hacked more blood out and worked his jaw, gingerly checking to see if it had been dislocated. Luckily for him, all of his teeth remained attached to his skull.

"What do you know of your cousin Kudou Shinichi?" his tormentor demanded coolly, as though torturing nine-year-old boys was an everyday occurrence for him. It quite possibly was.

"I—I don't know," he rasped, his throat dry from the minimal amount of water he was given daily. His head woozily sagged towards the ground in disorientation and exhaustion. It hurt to even _try_ to think, and his body shuddered from both exhaustion and exposure—they had stripped him down to his underwear, rendering him unable to hide anything that might have been used to escape with. He was pathetically grateful that his captors seemed to have absolutely no pedophilic tendencies, merely lethal practicality. "I haven't heard—from him in a while."

A pair of black-clad feet stepped into his line of sight, which was followed by the creak of leather and locks of silver hair coiling on the floor around the feet. A large hand roughly grabbed his hair and wrenched his head up, and he winced at the treatment. His glasses lay off to the side, broken and no doubt with dead batteries, and they had confiscated all of his equipment when he had initially been grabbed and sedated. There was no way of knowing if his friends would be able to track him down. Bloodshot eyes blearily yet stubbornly focused on the face before him, furiously glaring into the merciless green that gazed back. _Gin._ For a fleeting moment he wished he had the strength to lunge forwards and bite the man on the nose. His eyes flicked to the two other people present in the warehouse. The stocky, backlit silhouette of Vodka was easily distinguishable, but the slender female form beside him was not Vermouth, Kir, Chianti, Riesling, or Curaçao. The brightness of the sunlight streaming in from the open garage door of the warehouse prevented him from seeing her facial features.

"Don't lie," the man purred, drawing his attention away from the mystery figure. A dark grin curled the man's lips, and internally he shuddered in trepidation. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to lie to your elders, _Edogawa Conan_?" The young detective grimaced, his eyes involuntarily squeezing shut as the man tightened his grip on his hair. "So I repeat: what do you know about Kudou Shinichi?"

Blue eyes cracked open, and with a defiant snarl he answered icily through clenched teeth, _"I know nothing."_

The last thing he registered was the pain that blossomed in his gut before he gratefully blacked out.

\---

The Kudou Manor was silent, as was to be expected of an apparently abandoned home. Silence for him was normally a good thing. It meant that he had seamlessly managed to bypass security; that he was free to do as he pleased without anyone the wiser. And yet this silence unnerved him.

 _This_ silence was too still, too tense despite the emptiness of the house. The undercover FBI agent who had once stayed in the house had moved out after having been found out, and so the western-style home stood silently, watching stoically as its sole owner still in Japan grew through his second childhood. The quiet now loomed dark and dangerous, almost a living entity as it breathed down his neck and sent chills down his spine.

He crept noiselessly through the rooms, searching for the young owner: one Edogawa Conan, formerly known as Kudou Shinichi.

The taps he had placed on the Mouri phone lines had first alerted him to the situation, though in the beginning he figured that the detective had gotten into another one of his misadventures and would return relatively safe and sound. Yet when three days had passed with nary a sign of life from him, unease stirred in his mind. Had something happened to the crafty little sleuth? Was he injured somewhere, trapped and incapacitated? And so he had taken it upon himself to conduct a search, beginning with his childhood home.

The interior was gloomy and dusty from disuse, and with the weak light of the moon, he supposed the place could pass for haunted as well. He ghosted through the hallway, a specter in white, carefully alert for any sign of life, be they benevolent or malevolent. He had begun his search in the bedrooms, knowing that closets were stereotypically the inferred "best" hiding spots in a house. When the rooms failed to reveal his search objective, he turned his gaze to the public spaces of the home: the library, the dining room, the family room, the kitchen.

It was as he slid past the island in the kitchen that he noticed a small square of paper on the otherwise empty surface: a sticky note. He immediately ducked behind a wall, anticipating a sniper bullet through the curtained window. His heart pounded in his ears and his chest heaved, but he forcefully slowed his breaths as he waited for any signs of a trap. Erring on the side of caution, he flicked a single yen coin at the paper. The flash of dull silver in the moonlight would be enough to trigger a reaction in a sniper, but there was nothing.

He emerged from around his corner, body tense and ready to react at the slightest provocation. He reached the island once more, and with cautious, gloved hands, he plucked the note from its spot on the tabletop with tremulous fingers.

_Kudou Shinichi,_  
_If you wish to see that your cousin remains_  
_among the living, be at Five Choume, Five_  
_Higashishinagawa in Shinegawa by Friday,_  
_midnight. Alone. Fail to show and the boy_  
_dies._

Today _was_ Friday, and a glance at his pocket watch revealed the time to be ten thirty-two in the evening. _"Fuck,"_ he swore with feeling as he fled up the stairs to ransack the detective's closet. "Damn it, Meitantei, what have you gotten yourself into this time?!" Even with a bike, it would take thirty minutes to get to the docks, and he still had to return to his home first to retrieve supplies and weapons, which added another forty minutes to the journey alone. As it was, he would be cutting the meeting time close. He found a suitable change of clothes and stowed it, performing a quick change into his own civilian clothing and fleeing the house. He sped down the highways towards his own home, bolting into the hidden storeroom in the basement for supplies before a worried Kudou Shinichi emerged from the home of Kuroba Kaito.

\---

His ribs were cracked, if not outright broken. He knew that as surely as he felt that fiery agony in his left side with every rattling breath he took as he slowly regained consciousness. His knees complained from bearing his weight, as he had been shackled high enough to where he could not properly sit on the floor. His arms were numb from being suspended by the manacles that held his wrists at ear level had he the strength to keep his head held high. As it was, he knelt slumped forward, shoulders aching from bearing the weight of his exhausted body. He no longer smelled the metallic scent of iron nor did he taste it on his tongue, so at least the cut on the inside of his cheek from the earlier blow to his head had stopped bleeding.

Still, he remained limp in his bonds, having picked up the murmur of conversation somewhere nearby despite the constant high-pitched buzz in his ears.

" _That_ is Kudou Shinichi?" Gin's voice practically dripped with incredulous derision.

"I'm positive," replied the unknown female confidently. Her voice was smooth and crisp, with an ever-so-faint accent to her Japanese, marking her as a foreigner. Unfortunately for him, his skull still pounded and his thoughts were still scattered and flighty. He suspected he suffered from a rather severe concussion. He could not corral his thoughts long enough to identify the accent, though he had definitely heard it before. "That boy there is Kudou Shinichi."

"He's listed as dead in our records," the man remarked.

"And Sherry was the one who marked him dead," she countered.

Gin literally growled at the mere mention of the dead traitor. "Then why is he so tiny?"

The woman scoffed. "You knew the drug was experimental," she rebuked sharply. "We _both_ told you it wasn't one-hundred percent certain that the victim would die." Gin's answering growl of displeasure rumbled through the air. "You wanted proof, right?" she continued, her tone self-assured and lazily condescending. "Your proof will be the no show of Kudou in his teenager form by the deadline in three hours' time. He cannot, after all, be in two places at once."

Gin's voice was quiet, and all the more deadly for it. "You better be right, Bordeaux. Or you will be shot in his stead."

"Oh don't be such a stick in the mud," Bordeaux retorted. "If I got the wrong kid, I have something that'll wipe his memory, clean as a slate. The body of a child is bound to attract more attention than a missing child, don't you think? And besides," she added with a pout, "I could probably use him as a test subject." His blood ran cold at her statement.

"Scientists," the man sneered. "All you want is your damned data."

Bordeaux hummed dismissively. "I did the analysis carefully, and I collected the DNA without contaminating it. Edogawa Conan _is_ Kudou Shinichi," she stated with smug satisfaction, and he felt terror and hatred coil in his gut.

\---

He had arrived with fifty-two minutes to spare, and had used a portion of that time to scout out the warehouse. It was an empty space—one single room sectioned off by broken and rotting crates and leftover pieces of machinery. He could work with that. Within were four people: three adults, one child; three males, one female. The youngest was restrained and practically naked, his pale skin exposed to the balmy summer breeze, but his lack of clothing made it all too easy to spot the trails of blood that painted his chest and legs. The child's head was ducked, and he harbored a sneaking suspicion that the majority of the blood had come from a head wound, though there were a collection of dried droplets around his mouth and chin as well. His belongings were actually set on a chair in a dusty corner behind him and out of his sight, though the glasses had been smashed beyond repair a few feet away from the detective.

The other three occupants of the warehouse waited silently. The female, Bordeaux, leaned against an old conveyor belt, flicking a flip-style knife opened and shut. Moonlight illuminated her features, and from the curvature of her facial features and the build of her frame, he identified her as European in origin. Her russet brown hair fell in straight lines to her shoulders, which had been tied into a neat ponytail at the base of her neck. The thickset male simply stood at the front of the warehouse with his arms across his chest, face hidden by sunglasses and a fedora. His position allowed him to oversee anyone who passed by the entrance while at the same time keeping an eye on their captive. The last man also wore a fedora, but possessed a distinctive head of silver-blond hair that cascaded beyond his hips. He was sequestered in the shadows at the back of the warehouse next to the child, and smoked a cigarette with apparent calm. His left hand hung next to his side, comfortably clutching a semi-automatic.

The three were dangerous; their auras alone told him they were experienced killers. His eyes wandered back to the chained boy. _Meitantei._ A quick glance at teenaged-Kudou's watch on his wrist told him he had seven minutes to make an appearance, and his mind formulated countless methods of rescue, rapidly forming and discarding ideas as quickly as he evaluated them. Any surprise entrance would startle these assassins, which would lead to a swift and immediate death sentence for the immobilized shrunken detective given the proximity of the blond man to his rescue target.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. The forward approach it was. His gut churned in anxiety at the idea of confronting them head on, but he could not, in good conscience, stand by and allow his favorite critic to die like a defenseless lamb in an abattoir. He was used to working from the shadows, exposing himself only when he was fully prepared—and this time, he was not. Not mentally, certainly not emotionally, and he had no idea what sort of assumptions these people had made regarding the sleuth. It chaffed that there were so many unknown variables in this situation—too many to account for and too little time to plan for every eventuality… though with Kudou in the mix, any and all of his preparations were likely moot anyway. Kudou was a wildcard like that, was what made his participation at heists so exhilarating.

 _Focus!_ he berated himself, and he ran a final check on his meager preparations for the night.

Six minutes.

He closed his eyes and consciously regulated his breaths, hearing the pounding of his heart slow in his ears as he centered himself.

He could do this.

He was Kaitou KID, the world's foremost phantom thief. And tonight, he would perform his most daring and dangerous theft yet.

\---

"Five minutes," Vodka grunted as he checked his watch, and he weakly lifted his head a small amount at the announcement.

His brain still pounded and his vision blurred before him as he struggled to recall why they were calling out a time limit of some sort. Between that hushed conversation between Gin and Bordeaux and now, at some point he had passed out. It had been daytime when they had talked, and now it was dark. _Something about Kudou Shinichi appearing…?_ He stirred, eyes roving slowly, taking in the details of the darkened space as moving his head sent excruciating pain down his neck and shoulders. Bordeaux was in his plain sight, as was Vodka. Gin was nowhere to be seen.

He released a shuddering breath as realization settled and coughed at the scent of smoke. They were waiting for his adult form to show, and had some time limit on his apparent appearance. He clenched his teeth despite the fact that it made his skull ache, but all he could think about was how he was going to die here in this warehouse with no way of contacting anyone. No hope of rescue. No chance of saying goodbye. No possibility of exposing the very men who held him prisoner. _Ran…_ he thought with a deep pang of regret. _I'm so sorry…_ His mind brought forth the smiling faces of his best friend, of his parents, Agasa, Haibara, the kids, even Ran's parents and the officers of Division One's Homicide Unit. _I'm sorry…_

The click of footsteps brought him out of his reverie, and his chin was roughly tilted up. He grimaced in pain, prying his eyes open to find Bordeaux staring down at him, her face centimeters away from his as she knelt before him. Up close and despite the dark, he could see that her eyes were a beautiful hazel and that her face was attractive for a Westerner. "So, Kudou," she purred, and he once again felt hatred boil in his stomach, "Any last words before you join the great _majority_?" As she spoke, her other hand discretely slipped something flat and angular past the waistband of his underwear, her fingers dipping down just enough to ensure that whatever it was she wanted to give him was held securely by the waistband, yet hidden from plain sight. Her eyes flicked twice off to his right, quickly glancing at something behind him.

He registered the odd emphasis in her words, and his brain sluggishly processed the sentence and her actions. Why the looks behind him, why the something slid into his underwear, why the emphasis on majority? Why emphasize the greater half… greater half of _what_? Apparently he had been too slow with his response, for she huffed and straightened, dropping his head as she resumed her station along the end of the conveyor belt. His neck viciously rebelled at the treatment, and he stifled a whimper as his chin knocked the top of his chest.

_"Conan-kun? Conan-kun!"_

The voice—the inflection, the tone, the cadence—despite being panic-ridden, was without a doubt his own had he been his actual age. His head snapped up in reflex, and he hissed viciously as his neck and upper back flared in response to the movement. _It can't be… He can't have been_ stupid _enough to…!_

Feet pattered and slowed as they approached the warehouse entrance, and Vodka chuckled darkly as a new figure entered his field of view, shoulders rising and falling with his harsh breathing. Despite being silhouetted against the moonlight, there was no mistaking the slender, masculine figure and the cowlick in his hair. "Well," greeted Vodka as he shoved himself off the wall. "If it isn't Kudou Shinichi in the flesh."

He sucked in a breath, bruised eyes wide in alarm as a disguised Kaitou KID stared into the warehouse, his very presence radiating an aura of cool fury.

\---

The brutish build alone of the man that guarded the warehouse entrance suggested that thinking was not quite his forte, though he was not nearly naïve enough to believe in first appearances. In that regard he was as far from naïve as one could get, considering he was a true master of disguise himself. He panted heavily, having faked a panicked run as he bent over to brace himself on his knees while discretely taking in the situation from beneath his bangs. The sturdy man stood at the front; Bordeaux had placed herself between him and his objective, and the last man had positioned himself almost directly behind the bound, bare, and bloodied detective. He felt his stomach churn once more at the sight, and he wondered how badly Kudou was injured.

Movement caught his eye as the woman sprang away from her recumbent position, eyes flashing dangerously as she pointed a snub-nosed revolver at him and hissed, "You can't be Kudou Shinichi!" He was pleased to hear a thread of well-disguised disbelief in her voice, and he mentally grinned a menacing, teeth-baring grin.

Outwardly, he simply wiped the non-existent sweat from his forehead and straightened with a final, audible gasp of air. He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he eyed the occupants of the warehouse with a blank expression. "You requested a meeting with me, so here I am. Release Conan-kun."

"So you weren't dead after all," the silver-haired man rumbled contemplatively, his form barely discernable in the gloom save for the orange glow of the tip of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. The man ignored the demand to release the detective, choosing instead to remain where he stood against the back wall.

His eyes zeroed in on that man in the back, both instinct and observation screaming that this was the most dangerous of the trio. His focus wavered momentarily to drop down to the captive Kudou, who stared at him with a wide, stricken gaze. He read the barely-hidden terror in the detective's cerulean eyes—fear not for himself but for _him_. He slowly blinked once, wordlessly trying to convey his confidence in his ability to handle the situation—which was a lie. But even despite his nerves, he still had an ace up his sleeve, and tonight he planned on using it.

"I'm a little more difficult to get rid of," he answered with a hint of derision in his voice. His eyes locked with Bordeaux's hazel as he added, "I've never claimed to be a gentleman, but even _I_ know it is rude to keep a host waiting." He smiled, though it was a smile that bared his metaphorical fangs as he entered the warehouse, senses fully alert for the smallest of movements. The stocky man circled around behind him, roughly grabbing his hands and binding them with handcuffs, and he allowed it. He was forced to his knees, the man's hand grasped painfully on his shoulder as the woman approached from her position by the conveyor belt.

"You were wrong," the long-haired man growled, directing his biting commentary to the female. The man's left hand holding the weapon twitched.

Bordeaux glared back. "My analysis is _correct_ ," she hissed. Pointing to him, the woman snarled, "He's an imposter!"

"Oh?" he smirked. "Check then," he challenged, "I'm not wearing a mask."

\---

He was insane.

KID was utterly _insane_. If they survived this—if KID managed to get the both of them out of this situation alive—he promised afterwards he would strangle the damn thief himself for his recklessness. He ruthlessly quashed the voice in the back of head that accused him of being a hypocrite.

What was he trying to prove? That _he_ was Kudou Shinichi, and that Kudou Shinichi was an entirely separate entity from Edogawa Conan? The Organization, he was sure, would take him and use him as guinea pig in order to determine why he had managed to survive an experimental poison—except that it was not actually _him_. But he was helpless to intervene and warn the thief: he was bound and on his knees with his throat so parched he could barely speak, let alone yell a warning. And with the fact that Gin was apparently stationed closely behind him, there was no way to indicate to the magician that he should abort his idiotically altruistic rescue mission.

So instead, he stared as hard as he could at the disguised KID, hoping beyond hope that the criminal genius would read in his eyes the desire that he leave. This was neither the phantom thief's battle nor war; there was no need for the magician to get himself involved. _Please, KID!_ he mentally pleaded, _Get the fuck out and leave before they kill you!_ But the thief purposely evaded his gaze, instead choosing to continue the charade with cocky confidence.

He watched with growing horror as Bordeaux stepped forwards and roughly tugged the flesh of the magician's cheek. KID stifled a yowl of pain, and the female scientist backed off after several seconds, displeasure writ clear on her face.

"Happy now?" the thief retorted cheekily as Gin rumbled from somewhere behind him, "So is he the real one?" He heard the chilling sound of the flick of the gun's safety switch, the noise itself quiet but deafening in his ears.

Vodka stood just off to the thief's side, a meaty hand on the magician's shoulder to keep him on his knees. Based on the location of Gin's voice, the man stood behind him to his right, and he wished more than anything he could do something to help out his disguised rescuer. But he was chained, almost naked, and weak from lack of food and water—there was practically nothing he could do to help. His shoes and watch were gone, he was still in a skinny nine-year-old body, and his only asset—his mind—was useless if he could not carry out any plan of action he thought up. At least, not without tipping off the members of the Organization if he were to attempt any communication with the magician.

 _Maybe nonverbal cues…?_ He wracked his brain furiously, struggling to figure out a way to help the phantom thief get the both of them out of their predicament. He would not be dead weight—either literally or figuratively—he was determined to help somehow.

He would _not_ allow the onus of their safety fall solely on KID's shoulders.

\---

He watched with wary eyes as the silver-blond man detached himself from the wall, all the while keeping track of the man's left hand. A rustle of chains pulled his attention to the bound detective, and bloodshot, blue eyes stared determinedly back, the shrunken teenager's gaze filled with worry. His eyelids fluttered slowly closed once more, and he hoped that the small gesture conveyed to his target that he had the situation under control. If only he could believe that. His eyes flicked to the female, who stared at him with a snarl of hatred curling her lips. He smirked back at her, and Bordeaux narrowed her eyes in response.

His attention snapped back to the tall, slender man, who by now had stopped before him. The man squatted, his hair brushing the dusty warehouse floor as he painfully pressed the barrel of the gun into the soft flesh beneath his chin, forcing his head back. "So," he began, his deep voice carrying in the space despite the lack of volume, "We meet once again, Kudou Shinichi."

There was a chuckle from the man behind him. "He's broken your perfect record, Aniki," he teased.

The man before him growled, muttering darkly, "Not if I can help it," as the gun's muzzle pressed harder against the flesh of his neck. He barely refrained from wincing; there was definitely going to be a bruise later.

"You can't, Gin," the female interrupted sharply. "He's a valuable data point. We take him with us."

Gin's green eyes narrowed at her interjection, and the stocky man behind him snorted. "He's just a disposable brat," he countered, squeezing his shoulder with unsurprising strength. Again, he withheld a wince.

Bordeaux's glare was positively scorching. "He is _not disposable_ , Vodka," she snarled. "If he holds the key to eternal life… don't you think _Ano Kata_ would want him alive?"

Vodka made a noise of disgust and Gin snorted at her question as he dropped the gun away from his chin, and he mentally filed away the men's codenames and the apparent significance of this "Ano Kata" person who was likely their boss. Too bad they had referred to him by yet another codename.

In a way, this group of people was like Snake and Spider—part of some larger organization searching for immortality. Were syndicated crime rings in search of eternity all full of crazy codenamed killers? At least _his_ organization was a zoo—Kudou's was just a bunch of alcoholics.

But back to a more pressing matter… "Are you going to let Conan-kun go now?" he choked somewhat testily past the dryness of his throat, conveying by choice of words his irritation with both his and his cousin's current situation. "I came like you asked, so release him. He doesn't know anything."

There was another rustle of the chains, and from the corner of his eye he detected movement from the shrunken teenager: a stilted but frantic twisting of his torso in lieu of shaking his head, and his expression was scrunched up in unmistakable terror. His eyes narrowed as he focused on Kudou's movements, the manner of his actions strongly indicating an injury to the spine—and likely the neck.

 _Well, shit._ _That complicates matters by a lot._

_\---_

_No no no NO NO!_ He was going to do more than strangle KID when this was over. He was going to strangle him and then hide the body so that it would never be found. And he _could_ do that fairly easily, considering how he routinely backed out how murders happened by using the evidence.

He watched with no small amount of trepidation as Gin straightened from his crouch before the thief. Then without warning, the silver-blond man took aim and shot the magician in the right thigh. He gasped as KID unsuccessfully muffled a scream of pain, the phantom thief's breath hissing through clenched teeth as he struggled to control himself. The thief's body had instinctively bowed forwards, though Vodka's firm grip on his shoulder kept him from bending completely over. The tendons of KID's neck stood at sharp lines against the moonlight, but even despite the immense pain he was in, the thief's eyes were as hard as he had ever seen them.

"Why did you do that?!" snarled Bordeaux as Gin smirked at his handiwork.

"So he cannot run," Gin answered frostily as the man turned to face him. He felt the blood drain from his face and he froze in helpless terror as Gin aimed the gun directly at him. "Nor can he stop me from doing this."

 _"NO!"_ KID shrieked, and there was real fear in his voice. "You promised a trade!"

Vodka chuckled at the thief's naïveté, and Gin scoffed. "Did you honestly think I would leave witnesses alive?" the slender male rumbled derisively.

There was a sudden shattering of glass from above that had everyone ducking for cover. _"No, which is why I felt the need to step in."_

Everyone's attention snapped from the tableau between Gin and himself to a white-clad figure standing in the rafters of the warehouse by a broken skylight, and he stared in utter confusion at the sight as his brain tried and failed to comprehend the scenario before him. Kaitou KID was currently disguised as his older self and bleeding from a shot in the leg, and yet far above his head was the phantom thief, dressed impeccably in his distinctive white attire. _A dummy,_ he thought, rationalizing the scene, _It_ has _to be a dummy…_

In the space of a breath from the time the window shattered, Gin had taken aim and had shot at the intruder. But KID had reacted and leapt to the next strut, dodging bullets as he cackled overhead. His laughter echoed in the warehouse as both Bordeaux and Vodka joined in the firing.

 _I don't…_ he thought faintly as he watched, dumbstruck. _How…?_

Eventually KID—the one in the rafters—dropped a smoke bomb, and the world went white.

\---

A twitch of his finger was all he needed to set off the small bomb that broke the skylight window. Another twitch, and the dummy he had rigged by propping the skylight open dropped into view. Yet another twitch, and the pulley began reeling in the dummy, following the course of the steel thread that had been woven by one of his brightest doves. A final finger twitch triggered the release of the smoke bomb that doused the warehouse microcosm in a blanket of milkiness. He instantly freed himself of the handcuffs, rolling to the side and away from the three alcohols while biting down hard on his lip to keep from yelping in pain. He slid a gas mask on and tossed out another smoke bomb, this time filled with sleeping gas.

He released a relieved sigh as he heard the telltale thumps of two bodies, but froze when he heard the lack of a third. He immediately ducked into a low crouch on all fours, listening intently for that third body fall while being reminded rather viciously that he was injured. A glance at his right leg revealed that he was still bleeding and leaving a very visible trail of where he had been. With a quiet, "God- _fucking_ -damnit," he cast about for something to dress his wound. A quick inventory of his belongings revealed a spare tee shirt for a quick change, which he appropriated as a bandage and tourniquet by tearing the clothing item into strips with his teeth after he had flung another sleeping gas pellet into the cloudy void. He had angled the pellet away from the back of the warehouse, as he had no desire to overdose Kudou on the aerosol sedative, but he had to keep it far enough inside to ensure that he got the last person. He kept his ears open for the sound of that third person that refused to succumb to his sleeping gas as he worked on his bandaging.

Finally he heard that third person fall to the floor, as evidenced by the characteristic flop of a fairly heavy mass. This was accompanied by a final but weak, "Fucking _shit_ ," and only then did he breathe a little easier. He finished binding his leg before straightening and limping along, using his memory of the warehouse's interior to find his prize. Slowly, the still, sagging form of the shrunken Kudou Shinichi materialized from the mist, his body stretched in a macabre imitation of a biblical sacrifice.

He began by first securing the detective's torso to a plank from a crate, immobilizing his spine before he carefully slid a mask over Kudou's face and restrained his head to the board as well. He then released the detective's wrists, hugging the limp body to his as he freed both of Kudou's hands and tenderly massaged the appendages around the areas where the manacles had rubbed the skin raw. He gritted his teeth as he stood, cradling the comatose sleuth in his arms. He shuffled to the conveyor belt, gently setting the child on top before returning to grab the shrunken Kudou's belongings. He draped the clothing over the practically naked boy and stripped himself of most of his own clothing as well to cover the detective, unwilling to risk further damage to Kudou's spine as well as trying to prevent the onset of shock before pulling out Edogawa Conan's phone. He mentally flipped through all of his observations of the shrunken detective's interactions with various people to determine who would be the best point of contact and comparing them to his own dirt digging as he collected his dummy and dressed himself in his more usual costume of white. He dialed, set the call on speakerphone, and placed the device next to the sleeping detective as he began the tedious process of tying up his… opponents. By now, the mist from his smoke bombs was beginning to clear, and he could make out three still forms on the dusty floor.

After several rings, a sleepy voice answered, _"Okiya speaking,"_ and he silently sighed in weariness at the prospect of the amount of forced buoyancy he was about to perform.

"Okiya-san, it's Kaitou KID," he spoke as Poker Face dropped seamlessly into place and masked his physical and mental discomfort. "I've managed to steal a rather rare gem this evening: the brilliant Edogawa Conan!"

 _"Conan-kun?"_ The man on the other end of the line was instantly alert. _"Is he all right?"_

He finished securely tying up Gin with a length of steel thread from a spare pulley, clipping the line with a small cable cutter. He repeated the action with Vodka as he spoke. "He's severely injured. He's likely to have suffered a spinal injury along with a concussion, so I've gone ahead and immobilized him. He's been dosed with a sedative, so that should keep him still for a while."

 _"And his kidnappers?"_ Okiya asked briskly, and he could hear over the line the man preparing himself for… something. Probably a meeting with his other fellow undercover Americans.

"Tied up like chimaki," he boasted proudly as he tied the final knot to secure Vodka.

The man's voice was steady but eager. _"Where are you?"_

"Five Choume, Five Higashishinagawa in Shinegawa," he burbled cheerily, then chirped, "Ta!" before hanging up with a grimace. He really _had_ been hanging around Hakuba too much as of late.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I decided to try something a little different and write this story in snippets that swapped POVs. It's a bit experimental on my part, as I wanted to portray KID's insecurity with his actions to save Conan, as well as Conan's panic at KID's involvement while the scene was unraveling. This'll be a two-parter, so expect one more update for this fic. I've mentioned some of the characters from Movie 20 despite not having watched it, but I also do not describe nor spoil anything else about them. And I just realized, after writing this, that every single person in this fic has an alternate name for themselves. Chimaki is a flavored glutinous rice dumpling that is wrapped in a leaf (banana, bamboo, or reed), tied in twine or string, and steamed. "Ta" is British slang for "Thanks." I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \---
> 
> Completed: 28.06.2016


	2. II: Recovery

He watched from the shadows as Edogawa Conan’s American allies arrived at the warehouse from his vantage point the next warehouse over, the four figures cautiously approaching the appointed location with weapons drawn. Unlike the two men—Gin and Vodka—that he had recently taken out, these were people he had researched in the past in order ascertain whether or not they would pose a threat to Kudou. The man he had called, Okiya Subaru, had not made an appearance. In his stead was Federal Bureau of Investigation agent Akai Shuuichi, someone he knew to be likely the best sniper on the planet. With him were two other men and a woman: Andre Camel, James Black, and Jodie Starling. He observed as the two unconscious males were taken into custody and breathed a sigh of relief as Kudou was carefully placed in the back seat of the Mercedes sedan. While the detective had been whisked off to what he was almost positive would be a hospital, the sniper, Akai, remained behind to watch his two comatose captives.

It had been his first time to encounter these particular two men, though after the Mystery Train incident, he had inadvertently been dragged into the shrunken detective’s affairs and had learned quite a lot about Kudou’s opposing Organization. It was similar to the Syndicate that opposed Kaitou KID, though with a much more focused intent on getting the job done. They named their agents after alcohols: Sherry, Bourbon, and he had heard in passing of Vermouth as well. He could now add Gin and Vodka to the list of names working against Kudou—the list of people to keep an eye out for.

Still, secure in the knowledge that the American probably knew what he was doing hanging back in the warehouse with the two bound men, he returned his attention to a hostage of his own: Bordeaux. He checked his pocket watch and grinned darkly as she began to show signs of consciousness. Right on time. He stood by, card gun clasped in a loose grip as she woke, starting upon realizing she was bound. But unlike her cohorts, he had elected to bind her with knotted strings of scarves, which were much gentler on the skin.

“Sleep well?” he purred in flawless French, and her hazel eyes snapped to his single exposed eye.

“Phantom Thief 1412,” she gasped upon realizing who exactly stood before her, instinctively replying in French as well.

He gingerly crouched down before her bound form, putting himself closer to eyelevel with the female. “Well met by moonlight, Bordeaux,” he greeted in Kudou Shinichi’s voice, tweaking the phrase from English playwright William Shakespeare’s _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. He cocked his head in mock inquisitiveness as he added, “Aurelié Paquette, if memory serves correctly? Or should I address you as _Dorothée Moreau_?” he whispered softly by her ear, calling her by her true name.

Bordeaux’s eyes widened in fear and uncertainty, and he hid a grin. As an undercover, abroad member of the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure, the woman’s personal information was considered top secret by the French government. It came as no surprise to him that she would be utterly terrified of him at the moment if he was able to hack into the DGSE’s database with such ease.

“Fear not, milady, I will not reveal your secret,” he promised. “I try my utmost best not to get people killed. And thank you, by the way, for keeping Gin from offing me right then and there.”

She snorted. “Well you _did_ tip me off that it was you.”

He chuckled. “Now, would you like me to untie you? There is much we need to discuss,” he said briskly, and at her hesitant nod, he made the scarves disappear with a quick snap of his fingers, along with all of her stashed weaponry. He tucked away his card gun and carefully helped her to her feet, even going so far as to offer her a white handkerchief to dust herself off with. She stifled an amused snort at the KID caricature embroidered in the corner with a rich indigo thread. She brushed herself off before offering the cloth in return, and he shook his head.

“Keep it, so you can remember me,” he joked, and she rolled her eyes with an amused huff and tucked it into a pocket. Offering his arm, he led her to a pair of comparatively intact crates, helping her settle on one before seating himself on the other. “Now,” he hummed, eyes gleaming in the moonlight with anticipation as he idly twirled her open folding knife in one dexterous, gloved hand, “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll consider your debt repaid. What can you tell me about _Them_?”

\---

Consciousness came and went in brief bouts. Mostly what he remembered was quick glimpses of white light and snatches of frantic voices. Then, he was dreaming.

_He dreamed that he was no longer a nine-year-old boy, but his would-have-been normally aged nineteen-year-old self. He stood on the roof of a building, staring out at the moonlit skyline of an unfamiliar city as he wondered where exactly he was. A cool breeze blew, playfully tugging at his clothing and hair, and he inhaled deeply. It was peaceful up here, and could see the appeal of taking in the sights from a height, as was KID’s wont._

_As though in a daze, he began to walk towards the edge of the building, propelled by some urge he could not quite identify. Despite the fact that he realized that walking off the edge of a skyscraper was a surefire way to become a rather gory pancake on the ground hundreds of meters below, he continued to lurch towards the edge as he began to fight his body for control, but to no avail._

_He paused on the threshold, swaying as he reflexively kept his balance while the wind tried to nudge him forwards. His eyes gazed down at the street below, pedestrian scurrying on the sidewalks like trails of ants. He wanted to voice his desire to step away from the edge of the building, but his voice, like his body, was no longer his to command and not a sound issued from his throat. Instead, he could only gasp in terror as his right foot lifted over the void, and the weight of his leg was enough to tip him forwards so that he tumbled into free fall._

I’m going to die, _he thought wildly as he watched the ground come rushing towards him._

_“I’ve always thought this was the most fun part of heists—the rush of adrenaline that comes with base jumping as a method of escape,” a voice commented indolently beside him, and a glance revealed none other than Kaitou KID plunging headlong to his death with him. The thief’s cape fluttered like broken wings behind him, and a tranquil smile graced his face as he stared calmly at the street below them. He tried to yell at him, tell him to save himself with his glider, but again no words formed on his lips. He struggled to reach out, but was incapable of twitching a finger. Instead, he was helpless as he continued to fall, the thief serenely humming at his side. “Perhaps we should quit our falling,” KID murmured thoughtfully, and before he could react the magician twisted midair and pulled, his back to KID’s chest, and wrapped strong arms around his torso. “Hold on!” he whispered, and there was excitement in the magician’s voice._

_There was a sudden flurry of white—an explosion of both long flight feathers and fuzzy down curls swirling around them that had him gasping, and then he felt his breath forcefully expelled from his chest as their descent was abruptly halted. He wondered inanely how he had managed to initially evade inhaling feathers._

_“Up we go,” KID sang, and with a powerful flap of the wings covered in feathers of pure white that arched from beneath his caped back, the thief catapulted them back up into the air. The pair rose high above the tallest buildings, the magician stabilizing them at a high enough altitude that he could see the curvature of the earth by the reflection of the moonlight on the glittering surface of the ocean. Above them, a cloudless sky sparkled with an endless sea of stars. The view from this elevation was absolutely phenomenal and it stole his breath away, much to a certain phantom thief’s satisfaction. And despite the fact that only KID’s arms kept him from plunging to a quick and sudden death kilometers below, he had never felt safer._

_“Don’t worry, Meitantei, I’ve got you,” Kaitou KID murmured reassuringly as the dream began to blur into quiet darkness. “I’ve got you.”_

\---

“… and that’s why I ended up investigating Edogawa Conan,” she said. “Had I not been ordered to, I would have left him alone to continue sniffing around for Gin and Vodka.” Her lips curled in derision at the mention of her two compatriots. “Keeping him alive served my interests much better than having him dead.”

“As long as you keep his identity a secret. You are _sure_ you can create it?” he asked, his expression as serious as his question. “You will kill him if you formulate it wrong.”

Bordeaux scoffed. “I cannot guarantee anything,” she retorted. “Half the work was Miyano’s, and we had been instructed to work on our parts of the drug separately so that the formula could never be replicated by someone else. Though I’m not sure why Kudou failed to die, if Miyano is still alive—and I’m sure she’s alive, sneaky bitch that she is—” she retorted with fondness in her voice, “—then any antidote she creates for the detective will not work without my half of the working formula.”

He eyed her carefully, weighing her sincerity with her trained propensity to backstab and lie as he debated (re-)introducing Bordeaux/Aurelié Paquette/Dorothée Moreau to Sherry/Haibara Ai/Miyano Shiho. In essence, he would be exposing a former member who had been denounced as a traitor and presumed dead by the Organization to one who was still active but undercover. He thought back to the man known as Bourbon/Amuro Touru/Furuya Rei—egads, there were too many names for too few people, damn it all!—and how ruthless he had been in his apparent quest to kill Sherry on the Mystery Train. And this did not even bring into the equation Rye/Okiya Subaru/Akai Shuuichi, who had become the “killed” former member’s unofficial guard dog.

He resisted the urge to knead his temples and sigh as his brain cramped with the multitude of names and attached stories… at least _he_ only had _one_ pseudonym he answered to. But Kaitou KID’s Poker Face was impeccable, and _nothing_ he did not want to reveal slipped past that mask—a performer to the last. Instead, he adopted a thoughtful mien as he studied the DGSE operative before him. “So if you had Sherry’s notes, you could potentially restore him?”

The woman sighed. “I could, but without her input it might take me years to formulate.” A bitter but wistful smile curled her lips. “But if she’s dead… then I hope she’s happier, wherever she is. Considering the circumstances of her involvement, I’d say she was one of the more innocent of the OHs, as she was not tasked to be an assassin.” She added softly, “I actually considered her a really good friend despite everything.”

Thoughts buzzed in his mind, one of the more inane being, _Only a scientist would refer to alcohol by the hydroxyl functional group_. While he would not outright admit that he knew for a _fact_ that the scientist was alive but de-aged—he _had_ been her stunt double during the Mystery Train fiasco, after all—he could not let this opportunity to restore Kudou slip by. A year back, Kudou, as Edogawa, had managed to capture Snake at a heist, and like a line of standing dominos the Syndicate had fallen in a ripple effect under the sleuth’s ingenuity. It was the reason he tried so hard to help the shrunken teenager—he owed the detective more than he could ever say.

Eying his companion with a calculating expression as he considered how easily he could break into Agasa Hiroshi’s home—and more importantly, Haibara Ai’s underground lab—he began, “If I can get her notes… how soon do you think you can have that antidote ready?”

\---

He noticed several things straightaway as consciousness slowly returned to him. First was the sterile scent of antiseptics and medicine, which was closely followed by the constant beep of a cardiac monitor. Next came the sensation of radiating pain from his neck, along with the reflex to close his eyes when he tried to pry his eyelids open. He moaned softly in his throat as he opened his eyes once more, but it was enough to bring attention to himself. Noise that he had not realized was low conversation abruptly stopped, and his ears were assaulted as a chorus of voices exclaimed, “Conan-kun!”

He flinched—or rather he tried to flinch, shrinking back from the auditory onslaught. It took him a moment to realize that he was physically inhibited from movement, and his head in particular was immobile. The noise, thankfully, died with his knee-jerk reaction, and he slowly blinked his eyes open, allowing his pupils to adjust to the ambient light. Faces hazily swam into focus, and concentrating on any one specific set of features long enough for recognition to set in was a particularly arduous task. The faces whispered amongst themselves, and while he was appreciative of their circumspection regarding his current state of affairs, they were still much too loud. He closed his eyes once more, releasing a sigh as sleep beckoned once more.

“Is Conan-kun still awake?”

“Do you think he’s forgotten us?”

“The doctor said Edogawa-kun has suffered a cervical dislocation, which was why he needed surgery, as well as a concussion. It’s possible he night suffer from amnesia.”

“No way! He couldn’t have forgotten us!”

“Now, now, if you’re going to talk, either talk more quietly or do it away from his bed so that he can rest, okay?”

He was grateful for the last voice, for the speaker herded the chorus of inquisitive complainers away from him despite their arguments that he could possibly be awake now. The voices were exceedingly familiar, though at the moment the ability to identify them eluded him. His head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton and his body raked across coals, and it was only then that he realized he had a thick, padded collar around his neck to keep him from moving his head. A Halo device then, proving that aside from the pain he felt, he had indeed suffered a spinal injury of sorts. He focused on trying to string together fragmented thoughts and observations.

He had been held captive by the Organization—hence his current state of achiness. Noted.

Kaitou KID had come to his rescue… disguised as his older self…? He did not remember much of what happened next, up until he woke up in this hospital room.

He released a thin, barely-audible whine of pain and frustration. When he healed up, he would need to question the thief extensively. But until that time came, sleep sounded like a great idea…

\---

_The key to growth and maturity lies in France_  
_When the sun hangs longest in the skies._  
_Polyphenols and pharmaceuticals will meet_  
_In order to make way for Holmes’ resurrection._

He read through the riddle portion of the note several times more before nodding his head in satisfaction. It was suitably abstruse to the uninformed, yet it hinted to Sherry what exactly was at stake and much time she would have to decide. She had only one day until the summer solstice, at which point she would need to decide whether or not she wanted to meet with Bordeaux. The rest of the note was a short message informing her to call an encrypted number that he had provided should she want further details for their rendezvous.

Dressed in his reconnaissance blacks, he eased a window of the Agasa home open and gingerly but quietly deposited the note somewhere the shrunken scientist would easily find before vacating the premises. His destination now was St. Luke’s International Hospital, where Kudou had been taken immediately following his “rescue” by the American FBI agents. He had heard through his planted bugs that the detective had suffered a cervical dislocation—and surgery implied that there had been damage to his spinal cord. It had been two days since Kudou’s rescue, and he calculated that the sleuth would wake soon from both the strain of his torture and subsequent surgery, as well as the sedatives from both ordeals.

The injury to the detective’s spine worried him greatly. When he had seen how stiffly Kudou had moved when he had been chained, it had set off alarm bells in his mind. It was the reason why immobilizing the sleuth’s head and spine had been his main priority on his agenda after taking care of certain dangerous undesirables. He had been as gentle and careful as he could, but he had been fearful of aggravating Kudou’s injury. He had been lucky enough to have never dealt with a spinal injury himself, but he had had just enough experience with concussions to keep a watchful eye for symptoms. Kudou had unfortunately exhibited a number of those signs, and he had done his best to stabilize the detective as best he could with the materials afforded to him. He had been immensely relieved to learn that the sleuth had been admitted to a hospital, though the mention of surgery had sent his worries skyrocketing.

He slipped, unnoticed, into the hospital, anxiety clawing at his insides as he swiped the badge of a tired nurse on her way out of the hospital after her shift was over. He nonchalantly sidled back into his car in the parking lot, relocated to a nearby neighborhood, and began the transformation into demure, graceful Kiyosato Tomoe. The nurse returned to the hospital parking lot and stepped out of the car, her somber, pale face at odds with the black clothing she wore. She entered the hospital, greeting various coworkers who had the graveyard shift as she made her way to the locker rooms, looking for a fresh pair of scrubs. She dressed quickly in a set of periwinkle scrubs and made her way to the intensive care ward. She checked the patient registry at the circulation desk, zeroing in on the room that housed one Edogawa Conan. With a grin that was ill suited for her face, she made her way towards her target’s location.

She easily located the room after a quick glance at a map, and with a nearly preternatural quietness, she eased her way into the patient’s quarters.

\---

He was not sure what exactly woke him up, but when he opened his eyes, his room was dark. The curtains had been drawn shut, yet a sliver of moonlight crept through the space. A dim illumination glowed from somewhere under his bed, allowing the nightshift nurses to maneuver about his room without having to turn on the overhead lights. His eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, roved over the silhouettes of the footboard of his bed, the guest chairs and side table, the woman by the door—

He blinked. No, he was not hallucinating despite the fact that he still had a morphine drip in his IV. The statuesque nurse stood by the door, leaning against the wood as she simply gazed back at him. “Who’re you?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Kiyosato Tomoe, the attending nurse this evening.” She pushed herself off the door and stepped quietly closer. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice a gentle, soothing timbre as she stopped by his bedside.

“Tired,” he admitted, eyes lazily blinking as she reached out a hand to tenderly run her fingers through his hair. Some of the strands caught against her fingertips, and a frown crinkled his brow as he tried to rationalize why his hair would catch there in particular, much less touch him so familiarly in the first place. The idea bloomed in his mind, which meant… “I wasn’t expecting a visit from you so soon, Kaitou KID,” he sighed, sinking back into his pillow and fully enjoying the thief’s careful ministrations.

“Oh?” the magician replied in his own voice, which was tinged with amusement. “What gave me away this time, Meitantei?”

He smirked. “Rubber latex on your fingertips,” he answered drowsily. “But I wanted to ask you something,” he insisted, forcing himself to mentally wake up.

The phantom thief chuckled. “More like several somethings, I’d wager. But, fire away, Meitantei, and I will do my best to answer,” KID prompted.

The Halo device kept him from moving his head, and with the white foam padding it was difficult to see anything directly on or around the bed as his fingers blindly searched for the buttons that maneuvered the bed. KID helpfully pressed the button built into the side railing for him, tilting the upper half of his bed so that he was in a slouched but seated position. “Thanks,” he grunted, the shift in positions pulling at his neck and forcing him to ride out the pain with clenched teeth and hissed breath. It took several moments to realize that KID had inserted his fingers in his grasp and had allowed him to squeeze as tightly as he had reflexively needed.

“You okay, Meitantei?” KID asked, and he glanced up to find the thief peering down at him with concerned eyes.

“I’m okay,” he reassured softly, releasing the thief’s fingers as the pain faded to its more usual background level. “How did you find me?” he asked, recalling that his badge had been confiscated and his glasses broken. He had honestly thought he would die with no one the wiser.

KID pulled up a chair and sat down. “I found you because I was told where you were—or rather, _Kudou Shinichi_ was told where you were.”

\---

Gazing at the broken-but-still-alive Kudou, he felt nothing but relief that the detective had survived this particular escapade. At his pronouncement, Kudou’s blue eyes had widened in surprise. “What do you mean, it was addressed to Shinichi-nii-chan?”

He had to chuckle. Even though there was no audience aside from himself—and he was in the know—the detective had become too used to the performance. “Are you _really_ going to refer to yourself like that, Meitantei?” he asked with humor in his tone.

Kudou scowled. “Oh, shut up, KID,” he groused. But his displeasure did not last long as he refocused on the topic at hand. “Why was it addressed to me?”

A heavy sigh escaped him as the atmosphere thickened. “You were missing for three days, so I decided to conduct a search for you myself. I was in your house when I found that note.” He produced the aforementioned note and held it out for Kudou to read, helpfully illuminating the paper with a small flashlight. “As for the why… well, let’s just say they found uncontroversial evidence that Edogawa Conan and Kudou Shinichi were on and the same. They wanted proof that you could not be in two places at once.”

“So that’s why you came as me,” the detective sighed as he closed his eyes. “Thank you, KID.” Kudou’s voice was heavy and pained, and he opened his blue eyes a moment later. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? I vaguely recall hearing gunshots.”

His hands reflexively brushed his still tender thigh, which beneath the clothing was tightly bandaged. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he assured, grateful for the cloaking darkness that partially hid him from the detective’s too-keen eyes.

“Did you get them all?” Kudou asked as he closed his eyes where he rested.

“I let one go,” he replied, and the detective’s eyes popped wide open.

“You _what_?” he squeaked, then winced as his startled reply jarred his neck. When his levels of pain had dropped to a sufficiently manageable level, he eyed the thief as he asked, “Why?”

He settled back into the chair as he produced a small, folded square of paper. “Because of this,” he answered. “I nicked this off you. It was tucked in the waistband of your underwear.” His eyes stared into the detective’s. “Do you know what it said inside?” he asked as he repeated his actions from before, illuminating the paper so that Kudou could read the contents.

 _亡命の探求者_ _  
Demandeur d’asile_

Translated, “Seeker of asylum”. Beneath the two rows of vastly different languages was a stamped seal in royal blue ink, along with the address to the French Embassy printed in a fancy gold letterhead at the bottom. He read Kudou’s initial confusion on his face and answered. “That, and Bordeaux wasn’t _exactly_ who you thought she was.” As the detective’s gaze crinkled in further bewilderment, he expounded with a simple, “She owed me one.”

\---

It took some more detailed explaining on Kaitou KID’s part before he truly understood what had happened that night, along with the implications. Gin and Vodka had been taken into custody by the FBI, Bordeaux was in reality an undercover agent of France’s equivalent of the United States’ CIA, and KID had somehow finagled a hold over the Frenchwoman that he had cashed in the night of his rescue. Somewhere along the way, Kiyosato Tomoe had disappeared and Kaitou KID had reappeared in all his pristine white glory. Still, the tale the thief had woven was somewhat… surreal. The phantom thief had managed to put into play so many additional cogs that he could not help but be impressed with the man’s ability to manipulate anything and everything around him. It was an utterly baffling thing to realize that KID was in the process of facilitating a meeting between Haibara and her former laboratory partner with the intent of developing a final antidote for him.

It had been something of a combination of shock and relief to know that not all hope was lost for his return to his former life as Kudou Shinichi. He knew how hard Haibara had been working to formulate the correct antidote to the apoptoxin, but not once had she ever mentioned the presence of a partner who knew the complexities of the poison formulation as deeply as her, and the thought flitted through his mind as to why she had never saw fit to inform him. Perhaps she had not wanted to bring up memories of her time in the Organization, as he knew those were intricately tied to the memory of her late sister. Perhaps she had absolutely hated Bordeaux despite the fact that they had worked on the same project. Or perhaps cutting ties with Bordeaux was fraught with fear of the other woman’s retribution, as he had never once heard of Sherry accompanying the Organization’s assassins on a mission, and therefore the woman had a more bloodthirsty personality. Whatever the reason, he was fairly sure Haibara had a good reason not to mention her former partner.

“So she’ll be back in with no problems?” he asked. Now that he knew the true identity behind the codename Bordeaux, like Kir and Bourbon, he could not help but worry about them on a most basic level. They were his allies in this silent, unknown war, people that he needed and would need to work with in order to bring the Organization down. It was in his best interests that he kept them alive. Safe, with as little fear of blowing their covers as possible, and able to do what was needed when the time came to act—even if it meant killing people. He acceded that point with a mental grimace.

His expression must have shown on his face, for KID leaned towards him and asked, “Your thoughts must not be all that pleasant right now, ne, Meitantei?”

He sniffed. “I was just wondering exactly how lucky I am to be in the presence of the most annoying phantom thief to ever walk the planet,” he grumbled, masking his far more dark thoughts with his characteristic sarcastic humor.

“Oi, oi,” KID protested with a pout as he mimed being shot through the heart, “You wound me, Meitantei.”

All the thief received was an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “I wonder about you sometimes,” he announced flatly. “I really do.”

\---

As the night transitioned into early morning, he was gratified to find Kudou’s disposition gradually lifting as they transitioned from the somber discussion of what had happened the night he had intervened to the current lighter atmosphere in which they verbally poked and prodded—there was absolutely _no way_ anyone could convince him to physically poke and prod the detective—not when he had a Halo around his neck and fractured cervical vertebra.

He laughed at some snarky comment the detective had made, pleased by the grin on Kudou’s face. The sleuth’s next words caught him by surprise, however. “Why are you trying so hard to help me?”

The smile from earlier bled off his face as he gazed at the suddenly solemn detective, his mind formulating the best answer to Kudou’s question. _Perhaps it’s time,_ he admitted, and he treated his favorite critic to a smile. The smile was not his usual mania-filled grins, but rather, it was a soft curve of the lips that portrayed past hurts and deep longing. It was an honest, naked expression bared from the deepest recesses of his heart, the reason and driver behind his determination, his need to see that Kaitou KID sought his justice. And he had obtained it in the end—obtained it with the help of the bedridden, shrunken teenager before him.

“Because you helped take them down,” he said softly, reverently, the mood within the room changing to something almost mystical, deferential. “They murdered my predecessor, my mentor, my idol.” His eyes flicked away from Kudou’s, the detective’s gaze suddenly much too penetrating. “As a phantom thief, I could not arrest them—but I _could_ lure them out. And so I did, planning my heists to be as attention-grabbing as I could make them—all with the hope that someone would see, and _realize_ that I was the significantly lesser of two evils.”

His eyes rose from where he had stared at the floor to lock with Kudou’s, and he blinked to clear the tears that pooled along his lower lashes. “And so I thank you, Kudou Shinichi, for administering justice in my stead.” He rose from his seat with utmost grace, swept his hat off his head, and bent into a deep, reverent bow.

\---

He had known—had always known—that whenever Kaitou KID was involved, his personal reactions were never quite what he expected. Gratefulness when KID had rescued him midair after being kicked out of an airship, surprised when the thief had endeavored to uncover a forgery ring, irritation when the magician had disguised himself as Genta just to prove a point. Instances like these had proven to him that Kaitou KID, despite being a criminal, was someone who did not harm, but rather usually tried to help. The rather recent potential meeting between Haibara and Bordeaux came to mind. It also helped that the thief was as cunning, resourceful, and brilliant as they came. KID was someone he genuinely respected, and he was infinitely glad that he had been able to call the man his ally—perhaps even friend.

Right now, however, he was just flat out embarrassed. “Get up,” he hissed frantically, “Get up! There’s no need to bow!” The thief slowly straightened, his expression that odd mixture of melancholy and gratitude as he replaced his hat on his head. “You didn’t have to—” He tripped over his tongue, too flustered to properly speak.

“But of course I did,” KID responded serenely. “I owe you.”

He felt his already red cheeks burn a deeper crimson. “I—you owe me nothing,” he insisted.

The phantom thief shook his head. “Au contraire,” he protested softly, “You fulfilled a goal that I had been seeking since I was sixteen. To know that his murderers received their just desserts… I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“A name and a face,” he blurted without thinking, then scrambled to retract what he had spoken with wide eyes that matched those of an equally surprised phantom thief. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean to say that! I don’t want you to reveal your identity!”

Kaitou KID chuckled knowingly despite the shakiness of his quiet laughter. “Oh you don’t? But the fact that those were your first words is really quite telling,” the thief teased, though there was a hint of trepidation in his tone. “It proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that your curiosity, your thirst for knowledge and truth overrides nearly everything else. Are you sure you want to give up this opportunity?” he questioned tantalizingly.

If he could duck his head, he would have. But instead, he had to make do with lowering his eyes. “I want to know who you are,” he admitted softly, and he knew the thief could hear how badly he yearned for that knowledge in his voice. “I want to know why you steal, what you’re after, why you return your thefts. But I don’t want to find out this way—not with you just telling me who you are. I want to catch you before you reveal all of that to me. I want to _earn_ the right to know your identity.”

The thief’s smile was warm and understanding. “But all the same, it’s hardly enough of a reward for the favor you’ve done for me. You’ve more than earned it.” It went unspoken that the detective could very easily send the thief to prison with such knowledge, and the fact that KID was _still_ willing to offer up his identity on a silver platter moved him deeply.

He closed his eyes. “I don’t want it,” he maintained. Keeping his eyes closed, he continued. “Instead, what I’d like is for you to do your absolute best to keep me from catching you.”

KID snorted. “As if I haven’t been doing that already. You won’t ever catch me, Meitantei,” he stated with no arrogance in his voice, only a calm assurance that what he had spoken was the absolute truth. There was conviction in both his words and his abilities.

“We’ll see, Kaitou KID,” he replied, a smirk curving his lips as he opened his eyes. KID gazed back at him from beneath the shadow of the brim of his hat, a mirrored grin on his face.

“Well then,” he purred, as though greatly pleased with the way their chat had gone. “I suppose I should take my leave.” The thief’s indigo eyes locked with his, and the sincerity in those eyes was clear to read. “I hope Sherry and Bordeaux agree to meet in order to restore you, Meitantei. I eagerly await the day I can face off with Kudou Shinichi in the flesh.”

He grinned. “I look forwards to that day as well, Kaitou KID.”

KID swept into another graceful bow. “Until we next meet, Tantei-kun,” he hummed, and with a puff of smoke, the thief disappeared from his room.

His eyes roved to the window, where KID had pulled the curtain back to allow moonlight to shine in. He gazed at the waxing crescent, pondering the significance of the lunar orb to the magician. Despite the fact that his discussion with the phantom thief had his mind buzzing in all directions, his body demanded rest, and slowly he succumbed to the desire to sleep.

_When we next meet, KID, I’ll find the truth. But beyond that, and even more importantly, thank you for saving my life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Let me first start by saying that switching POVs that frequently is really tiring to write! This ended up being much longer than I expected, and yet I’ve forsaken sleep to write this in less than a week. Work’s really sucked because of my sleep deprivation… The title actually comes from a PADI scuba diving training course. The names Aurelié Paquette and Dorothée Moreau are a mix of several Paris Opera Ballet Étoiles, and the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure: the General Directorate for External Security, or DGSE for short, plays a similar role to the CIA. Bordeaux’s “OH” is a reference to the hydroxyl functional group (–OH) that is bound to a saturated carbon atom, which is a characteristic of any molecule considered an alcohol for all you science nerds (like me) out there. Kiyosato Tomoe is a mix of Kiyosato Akira and Yukishiro Tomoe from Rurouni Kenshin. 亡命の探求者 reads as boumei no tankyuu-sha, if you were interested. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> \---
> 
> Completed: 30.06.2016


End file.
